


Broken Things Are Better Together (Ice and Glass and Fire)

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and The Beast AU that no one asked for, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Upon A Time, there lived a lord in a castle. He was young and handsome, but his temper was horrendous, and when an old crone came knocking at his door for sanctuary, he turned him away.<br/>The crone, however, had a secret: He was a sorceror. When the lord turned him away he cursed him with a death sentence: He would be turned into a beast, and only would turn human again when he found someone he loved who loved him in return. He was never meant to survive.</p><p>After all, who could ever learn to love a beast?</p><p>(A Beauty and The Beast AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> _Once upon a time, in a country a long way from here...there lived a merchant so lucky in all his ventures it seemed as if fortune waited on his wishes._
> 
> _.... His daughters loaded him with commissions for gowns and jewels it would only have taken a fortune to buy. Only Beauty would not ask for anything._
> 
> _“Dear father,” she [said], “I wish for the most precious thing in the world; and that is to see you home again safe and sound….Since you insist, I will beg you to bring me home a rose.”_

“Are you sure you have to go, Adele?”

She laughed, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be back before you know it, René.”

“Adele, you know I go by Aramis these days.” He rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“You’ll always be René to me, little brother.” She said, tightening her scarf around her neck as the bitter winter wind bit at her skin. “I need to go.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I just worry, is all.”

“I can take care of myself, René.” She said, climbing on top her horse. “What would you like me to bring back for you from the city?”

He paused in contemplation; she wished she had asked him this inside. It was too cold out here, and Papa hadn’t been able to buy him a new winter cloak yet. They couldn’t afford for him to get sick, there weren’t any doctors nearby. If something were to happen to him, their family would never recover. “It’ll be warm in the city, won’t it?”

“It’s in the south, along the sea,” she said. “It’ll be warm.”

“Then bring me a flower.” He said. “The loveliest one you can find.”

“Why would you want a flower, René?” Of all things?

“Well, you’ll have to be thinking about me the entire time,” he said. “Constantly wondering if this flower was prettier than the last one, having to make sure that it’s pressed correctly so that it will keep…”

Oh, René. “There won’t be a single flower like it,” she promised. “I’ll see you soon, little brother.”

“Goodbye, Adele.”

She rode off into the icy air, leaving him behind, shivering in her wake. A snowflake fell onto Aramis’s nose. If all went well, she would arrive in the city by next Thursday. She would be fine.

The silver of his crucifix was cold underneath his fingertips. He prayed.

She would be fine.

 

Wolves howled in the distance. A storm grew in the sky. The forest turned darker. Adele grabbed at her horse, trying to quell the chill which was sinking into her bones, even despite the layers she wore. The wind picked up, carrying snowflakes and icy cold. The wind was too strong for her to get a fire going, every time she lit a match it was blown out. She wouldn’t last much longer like this, without shelter or warmth. Lethargy was sinking into her veins, a slowness that seemed inescapable. She needed to rest.

How could she, though? If she stopped now, if she let herself sleep, she would never awake again. She needed to wake again. She had to go on. Let it never be said that she went down without a fight. Not her, not Adele D’Herblay. So she staggered on through the snow,  with the cold penetrating deeply into her chest, and the likelihood of her surviving to see a flower, much less bring one back to Aramis, slowly fading away.

Her horse refused to move. She climbed off it, knee deep in snow and lips turning blue. She was certain her ears were frostbitten by now, she had taken her hair out of its braid hours ago for hopes of some sort of meagre warmth, but that did nothing. She wished she had brought a scarf, wished she had waited until the following week to set out on her journey, but as father Richelieu always said, _there is no changing the past._

What would papa do, had he been here? He’d have known what to do, he’d have known where to stop for shelter. Or, knowing his luck, he’d come across something that would help him, like a cave in exactly the right position, or---an avenue of orange trees, all in full bloom, no snow in sight.

She was dreaming, she was dead. There was no way this could be real, this strange space seemingly untouched by winter. Yet when she rubbed her eyes, it was still there. She couldn’t be dead either, because the wind still bit at her skin, and there was no pain in heaven.

Yet at the end of the road there was a castle, tall and imposing and beautiful. She stumbled towards it with half-frozen limbs, certain that if this was a dream then she never wanted to wake.

The door to the castle was left wide open, as if inviting her inside. It was not abandoned---a fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth. Yet there was no one there. Not a single soul. She checked every room she could, and despite there being a fire in every fireplace, and not a single fleck of dust in a single room, there was no evidence of any person living there. She could not bring herself to search any farther, with weariness tugging at her soul and the fires warming her to the core. She fell asleep on a sofa close to the fire, exhausted.

When she awoke it was the middle of the night, yet someone had to be awake, because on a table not too far away, someone had set out a feast for her, with all kinds of things she had never even seen before, let alone tasted. She faltered a moment before she ate from it, recalling childhood stories of enchanted food in enchanted castles. But she hadn’t eaten since that morning, and her stomach grumbled in hunger. She wasn’t going to let herself starve while there was perfectly good food straight in front of her face.

She fell upon the food like it might disappear the second she touched it, getting crumbs all over her cloak and almost spilling her wine twice. Yet nothing disappeared, and despite it seeming almost supernaturally better than any food she had ever had before, she was almost certain that was because Papa Treville couldn’t cook for his life.

She laid back down on the sofa, stuffed and drowsily warm. For a moment, while she was about to fall asleep, she could have sworn she saw a figure of a women in the corner of her eye. Yet when she turned around, there was no one there.

She told herself it was just her imagination.

Sleep came easily.

  
  


When she woke again, it had stopped snowing, and a rich fur cloak was left out for her, and as magical as this castle was, she knew she had to leave.

She donned the cloak and searched for a horse. A big castle like this had to have horses somewhere, didn’t it? Perhaps her horse had even found it’s way here and survived the night. She hoped so. Aramis had been so fond of that horse. It was warmer than it had been yesterday, with the sun peeking out of the clouds. There was a building behind the castle which might be stables, she slipped outside to check.

Yet when she stepped out of the back door, she found herself in the middle of a magnificent garden. There were flowers of every color and every size, some that were so foreign that she had never even heard of them before. There must have been a thousand flowers which grew there, each one more lovely than the last.

 _Bring me the loveliest flower you find,_ Aramis had told her, and she would. Their mother had loved roses before her death; Adele was particularly fond of them too. Aramis deserved nothing but the finest of roses, anything else would never suffice. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to go far to find one, as in the center of the garden grew dozens of beautiful blue roses, like none she had ever seen before. She reached out and plucked it, careful to not prick herself on the thorns.

 

How she would wish that she had never touched that wretched flower.

 

A terrifying roar sounded behind her, she spun around only to face the horrifying Beast which stood behind her. It had razor sharp teeth and wild eyes, and in hardly a second he had her pinned by the throat.

“I show not a single unkindness, and this is how you repay me? _Thief!_ ” He hissed. “Why should I let you live?”

The rose tumbled from her fingertips as she struggled to breathe, tears streaming from eyes out of exertion. “Please---you don’t understand---it was for my little brother Aramis,” She spluttered as he eased his grip. “He is waiting for me---you must let me go home to him---”

He laughed darkly, releasing her from his grasp. She fell to her knees before him; he stared down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Alright, go home to this brother of yours,” he said. “But send him back in your wake. I shall give you a month for him to appear. If he doesn’t, then I will come for you.” He said. “And you will pay.”

Then he was gone.

 

A horse stood tethered on the garden gate. All thoughts of going to the city were forgotten; she climbed on it and road for home as quickly as she could.  What had she done? Dear god, what had she done? He knew Aramis’s name now, even if she disappeared the beast would go after him anyway. What could she do?

 

From the castle, a figure of a woman stared out a window and watched her leave.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


“Athos, what have you done?” A hiss came from across the hall.

“She was stealing things, Charlotte,” he growled. “I don’t  want to speak about it.”

“To hell with whether or not you want to speak about it!” Her form grew more solid, grew furious. “She could have broken the curse!”

“No, she couldn’t have.” He sighed, he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“How would you know?” She whispered. “How would you know, damn it, since all you do is drive the people who could help us away?” She shook, candles flickered.

“She cannot love you, Charlotte! She can’t even see you.” He shouted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She flickered. He thought that she might cry. “Damn you, Athos de La Fere,” she hissed, disappearing from sight.

He sighed.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Athos.” Porthos. Thank god. “You know she’s only trying to help.”

“She should know by now that nothing will come of it.” He said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “We were cursed so that nothing would come of it. Rochefort knew that we would have no _true loves_ coming to save us. Not while we’re like this, ghosts and beasts and---”

“Athos.” He said, touching his shoulder. His hand was cold. It was always cold, but it still always came as a shock. Of all of them, Porthos might have had it the worst.

_A dead man walking._

“Athos, you need to calm down.” he said, his voice soft as though gentling a spooked horse. “You know that whenever you get like this the curse just gets stronger---”

“I can be angry without losing my ability of rational thought, Porthos.” He hissed. “But  Charlotte needs to realize that no matter how much she tries, no one will save her. No one will save any of us.”

Porthos smiled, but it was more of a grimace. “If that’s true, Athos, then why did you ask the girl to send her brother back in her place?”

He froze.   
Why had he? The best course of action would have been to send her away, telling her to forget everything she saw here. Yet for some reason, he told her to send the boy to him instead.

“Maybe you don’t think it’s as hopeless as you say it is.”

Maybe. But what kind of person only asked for a flower?

(Perhaps someone who could fall in love with monsters.)

  
  


Adele flew back into their house like she had hell on her heels.  “Papa!” she cried out, tearing the door open.

 _“Adele?”_ The soup Papa Richelieu had been tending to lay abandoned, the spoon falling unceremoniously to the floor. “What is it? Are you alright?” He went to her as fast as he could, running a hand through her auburn hair and inspecting her face, as if that would hold the secret as to why she was here. “Were you attacked----” He stilled as he came across the clasp of the warm fur cloak that was definitely not hers. “Where did you get this?”

“Papa---Papa, I.” She had not allowed herself to cry before this, so preoccupied as she was in fear. “I think I may have done something that cannot be forgiven.”

He stilled, then continued. “All may be forgiven if you are truly repentant, Adele. What did you do?”

She shivered. She was weeks early than when they were expecting her, only Papa Richelieu was in the house. It was Thursday. Aramis and Treville would have been in town. Richelieu would understand. He would make it better.

She told him.

 

He was quiet, for a time. The only noise was the crackling of the fire. “This is what we’re going to do, Adele. You and Aramis are going to go south. Jean and I will follow, after some time. Everything will be alright.”

 _Everything would be alright._  Her breath shook as she breathed.

Richelieu touched the purple bruise on her neck. “He will never touch you again. He will never touch Aramis. I promise.”

She felt like crying. She didn’t. Everything would be okay.

 

Treville and Aramis arrived at home when supper was already ready.

“Adele?”

“Aramis.”

“What are you doing back so early?”

She looked to Richelieu. He nodded silently. _Lie, if that will make him come with you_. “I think you should come south with me, Aramis. It’d be good. For your education.”

“I told you, Adele, I’m perfectly fine here.” He rolled his eyes. “What is this really about?”

“It’s nothing, Aramis.” She fidgeted.

“Like hell it’s nothing.” He frowned, eyes narrowed.  
She couldn’t lie to him, she never could. They never could lie to each other, it was impossible. They weren’t twins, but they might have well have been---when they were younger they were inseparable. They had shared everything. She had never needed to know how to lie to him before.

_Dear god, what had she done?_

“Some...earlier troubles I had on the road makes me think that perhaps it would be better if I brought some company along with me.”

“What sort of troubles?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” He said, staring at her, searching for some sort of injury. The purple fingerprints itched from beneath her scarf. She fought to not pull it tighter. “Are you alright?

“I’m fine.” _I just need you to be fine._ “I’d be better if you came with me.”

“I can’t, Adele,” he said, squeezing her hands. “You know Doctor Lemay is finally letting me be his apprentice, I can’t just let that go. Bring Treville with you, you’ll be fine.”

“No!” She coughed to cover her outburst. “No, it has to be you. Besides, there will be far more opportunities in the city than out here, Aramis. You’d like it there. It’d be good for you.”

“Adele, I’m fine here,” He repeated, giving her a concerned smile. “I promise I won’t disappear.”

But he would. He would. That beast would take him, and who knows what it would do with him. “René.” She grit her teeth. “You need to come with me. You need to. Trust me.”

He let go of her hands. “Adele, what is the matter? What happened?”

“I---” she looked to Richelieu. _It’s up to you if you tell him, but he has to go with you._ “It doesn’t matter, Aramis, you just have to---”

“Stop telling me it doesn’t matter!” He was holding back from shouting, she could tell: His hands shook, and he bit at his lip. “Obviously it matters, otherwise you would tell me what was scaring you so badly.”

“Aramis…”

“Don’t lie to me, Adele.” He warned.

She looked to Richelieu. It was up to her. Would Aramis go, if he knew?

Would he forgive her, if she lied? Would it be worth it?

His eyes were dark and piercing, a steady reminder to tell the truth. But would she tell it? What if he decided to play the hero, like the stupid _child_ that he was? They couldn’t take the heartbreak if something were to happen to him. But if she lied, would he trust her enough to follow her anyway? What if she broke his heart and lost him at the same time? She would have to tell him.

“Aramis, when I left home yesterday, It began to snow…”

  
  
  


“He’s not coming.” He stared out the window. “She’s not going to send him this way.”

“Athos, you need to sleep.” Porthos sighed, a cold hand on his shoulder and tearing him away from staring aimlessly into the snowy abyss.  “I don’t like what this has been doing to you.”

Obsessive thinking. Wandering. Staring at nothing.  (No, Athos didn’t like what it had been doing to him either.)  “I’m fine, Porthos.”

“Athos---”

He pushed his hand away.  “Leave me be.”

Porthos stilled. “Okay. Okay. Just know that I’m here, alright?” He swallowed, despite it being completely unnecessary. His adam’s apple bobbed.

As if Athos would ever forget that he was there. He couldn’t. It was his fault Porthos was stuck like this, here in this limbo between life and death. It was his fault. Porthos should’ve been away.

“Go to bed, Athos.” He repeated. “Please.”

He rose, leaving the iced-over windowpane and swirling snowflakes behind him. The boy was forgotten, for now.

Porthos led him to bed.

Athos slept alone.

  
  
  


A boy with his head full of daydreams ran away in the middle of the night, hoping that he could do what was right.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gahhh im so sorry this is so short??? i just wanted to get something out there, today.


	3. Chapter 3

 

> “There had been no sign of the Beast in all the many rooms through which she had passed, and everything in them seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living.
> 
> But this happy frame of mind did not last long. They had scarcely finished supper when the Beast was heard coming through the distant rooms…. The merchant was too far terrified to find his voice; but Beauty controlled hers and answered sweetly:---
> 
> ‘Good evening, Beast!’”

 

The castle was exactly like Adele had described it: beautiful, haunting, menacing. It loomed in front of him like the gates of hell. There would be no backing out after this. _Run home, Aramis,_ a voice said in his head. _Run back to Adele and stay safe._

He had no intention of staying safe; he only had the intention of doing what he had to do. He was a D’Herblay. D’Herblays did what was right. His father would never approve of him running off with Adele in the dark of the night and disrespecting a promise made in good faith. It wasn’t gentlemanly. (But was he any better, disappearing in the night so that he might run off to the magical castle of some Beast? Papa Richelieu wouldn’t approve. But Papa Richelieu, for all his sense and shrewdness, had no mind for matters beyond practicality, for matters of honor and righteousness. It took a true noble to know about things like that, his father would have said. It took a D’Herblay.)

He would honor Adele’s bargain. Just as soon as he found the courage to step inside. His resolve wavered, there was a sort of fear inside him that he hadn’t had the time to realize before he arrived. If he stepped through those doors, what would become of him? Would he be alright? Would this be the end of him, fed to some Beast because his dearest sister dared to ask for a rose?

His breath caught inside his throat. He thought, fleetingly, of running back home, escaping before the pink sunrise spread over the sky. He thought of Adele, of Richelieu and Treville, and how he never actually got to say goodbye. He hadn’t left a note or anything, a letter or an explanation. They would know where he was, yes, but---

(He forgot to tell them that he loved them.)

He shivered, staring the castle down. He thought of his parents, he remembered his father. What would he think, if Aramis just left? He would never approve. Never. (But if it saved his life…)

Then, as if by magic, the doors were pushed open slowly, silently. Inviting him inside. No turning back now. They already saw him.

He stepped inside the castle with a heavy heart, uncertain if he would ever step out again.

 

 

The castle was surprisingly warm; there was a fire in every grate, though he couldn’t find anyone tending to them. That was alright, Adele had told him that the castle had seemed empty. Perhaps the Beast simply wanted to scare him, then send him home. Maybe the Beast had simply forgotten about him. (But if the Beast had forgotten, then why had the doors opened for him?)

He pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and draped it over a chair. If the Beast expected him to stay, then fine, he would stay. He set his mind on exploring the castle; If the Beast was trying to drive him crazy with boredom, then he would have a hard time of it. He had dealt with far worse things than being stuck in a magic castle.

It had been hours before he saw another person, but eventually he did. A tall man was tending to one of the fires. Strange. Aramis wasn’t sure what kind of person was the servant of a beast. Perhaps this man was like him, forced to stay here, forced to work.  (Perhaps Aramis could have a friend.)

“Who are you?”

The man flinched, then turned around. “I’m Porthos.” He said, placing the poker back in its spot. “Is there something you need?”

He was beautiful. Aramis couldn’t see it before, when he was facing the fire, but now the golden light from the fireplace highlighted a kind face with handsome features. His skin was dark, but his eyes were too, and Aramis----

Needed to stop falling in love with every person he met. He coughed, and calmed his heart. It wasn’t really love. He didn’t know what love was. “An explanation, maybe.”

“An explanation?” He blinked his dark eyes. “For why you’re here?”

  
“That’d be nice.”

“You’d need to see Athos for that, I guess.” He shrugged, but there  was still tension in shoulders.

“Athos?” There were others?

“I suppose you’d know him as the Beast.” Porthos said. “I can take you to him, if you want.”

Aramis did not want, just in case the Beast’s---Athos’s---plan was to swallow him whole, but he nodded anyway. “So there are more people here? Other than just him? And you.”

“There are three of us,” He said, shuffling along the hallway. “And you, I guess. So four.”

Just four people. No wonder the castle felt so lonely.  “Who’s the fourth person, then?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Porthos?”

He looked at a clock, still not answering. “It’s almost dinner time. Athos will be coming, wait here.”

Just like that, Aramis found himself alone in an empty dining room, a feast laid upon the table, but no one else in sight. He stared at the food uneasily: he had always been rather skinny, and he wasn’t sure if the food was the beast attempting to fatten him up before he was eaten alive.

He felt his appetite plummet, and contented himself by chasing a cherry tomato around his plate instead. His stomach was tying itself into knots, a tremor had found its way into his fingers. He was terrified. He had barely reached his majority; he had never thought about dying. Not really.

It was too late to run. He didn’t even know where to find the doors from here, how could he escape? More importantly, how could he escape unnoticed? There wasn’t a chance. Porthos, as nice as he seemed to be, did not seem like he would betray the Beast---Athos---and help Aramis run. He was stuck here, for better or for worse.

The clock chimed six. The door opened; It was the Beast. He hadn’t known what to expect from Adele’s story, but he hadn’t expected this. The Beast was as frightening as Aramis had feared, with sharp, long fangs, and manic eyes. Yet his appearance was almost humorous, what with the way that he had stuffed himself into a richly embroidered waistcoat, something that might have passed for the height of fashion decades ago.

Still, Aramis reminded himself about how he might die in merely a few seconds, and damn him to hell if he let that happen without a fight. So he raised his chin like a proper aristocrat would,---like a proper D’Herblay would---stared him straight in the eye, and said, “Hello, Beast.”

He flinched visibly, Aramis cursed himself immediately. Of course he wouldn’t like to be called _Beast._ He winced, and shut his eyes. Yet the Beast didn’t kill him.

“Athos,” The Beast said instead, in a haggard whisper that nonetheless carried through the entire room. “Call me Athos.”

“Alright, Athos,” he said, being very careful to not make any more potentially fatal mistakes. “Why am I here?”

“Because I asked you to be.” He said again, in that quiet hiss of his whisper, which Armais quickly realized that the sound must have been Athos trying not to roar and frighten him off. “I...could use some company.”

“What about Porthos?”

“You’ve met Porthos?” Athos raised an eyebrow, or the beastly equivalent of one, and a horrible smile tugged across his lips. However, the bemusement was quickly gone from his face. “Porthos...Has been with me a very long time. He is very dear to me.”

“Then why do you need me here?”

“Have you ever only spoken to the same two people for years on end? It’s quite draining.” He remarked dryly, taking a sip of his wine. “Come, sit. Drink. You’ll feel better.”

“So you don’t intend to eat me, then?” He finally let himself blurt out, when it seemed quite apparent that Athos’s main diet did not consist of young men who were too honorable to run away.

Athos blinked, then laughed. He had a horrible laugh, a booming one that seemed more like thunder than actual laughter, but it set Aramis somewhat at ease anyway. It felt like the first honest action Athos had done. “No, rest assured, I do not plan on doing that.”

A dull emptiness had settled into Aramis’s chest now that the adrenaline had wore off. Every heartbeat felt hollow. How was he supposed to live here for the rest of his life? He had been so sure that he would die, or the beast would eventually send him home. Instead, he would be stuck here forever. He would never see Adele again. Or Papa Treville, or Richelieu. He’d just be here, in this lonely, gray castle, which always felt cold no matter how many fires were lit.

He raised his goblet to his mouth and downed the wine in one go.

 


	4. Chapter 4

> “Beauty began to excuse many things in the Beast---his voice, for example. With such a nose how could he help roaring through it? Really he appeared to be wanting in tact rather than anything purposely terrible; though, to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly, when at length he blurted out:----
> 
> ‘Will you be my wife, Beauty?’”

 

Living in the castle wasn’t horrible. In fact, it was a rather quiet life. Not much happened; he hardly saw anyone at all. Anyone, that is, excluding Porthos. He saw Porthos quite often, actually. It seemed like he never went a day without seeing him at least once, and that didn’t seem bad at all. Out of the supposed three people that occupied the castle other than Porthos, he seemed the most normal, the most kind. Not that it was really hard to, with the other options being a beast and some third person that Aramis had never seen, despite how many places he looked.

No, Aramis didn’t mind Porthos at all. Whether or not Porthos minded him, well. That was another story.

“Good morning,” he said one day, when the sky was clear and Aramis’s spirits began to brighten. “How are you?”

“Hm? Fine, I guess.” Porthos said, offering some tea with stiff hands. 

They brushed hands as he took the teacup from him; Aramis tried to ignore the way Porthos flinched away from his touch. “And... Athos?”

“What about Athos?”  
“Is he doing well?”

“I ‘spose,” he shrugged, staring out the window. “He’ll uh, he’ll want to see you tonight. He had something he wanted to show you.”

“Something to show me?” His heart beat faster despite himself, because even though Porthos himself was nice enough, Aramis was nowhere near so naive to forget his wariness. 

“Mhm. It’s a surprise.” 

Aramis looked at him, but Porthos still wouldn’t meet his eye. “...Alright.” He set the teacup down on the table, empty now of all its contents. Porthos still wouldn’t look at him, but that didn’t matter.  

He’d go exploring, he decided. The castle seemed endless; there were a million places he hadn’t gone. He could deal with the loneliness when there was nothing else to do.

  
  


It had been exactly one month, two weeks, and three days since Aramis had left. It had been one month, two weeks, and three days, and Aramis was almost certainly dead. Nobody said it, of course. No one would dare. He was her baby brother. Her sweet,  _ stupid  _ baby brother, who had nothing inside his head other than a skewed sense of honor. 

She hated him, sometimes, for leaving her. Then she hated herself for hating him. It was her fault, after all. If she hadn’t taken that flower, if she had just left the place immediately, he would be here with her, and everything would be just fine. 

But she had taken it, and as Papa Treville always said: there was no changing the past. She was stuck with the knowledge that Aramis was gone, and that it was her fault. Now she just had to learn to deal with it. 

(She didn’t want to deal with it. She wanted her baby brother back, with that stupid dorky grin and the way he always over steeped the tea. She wanted him to waltz right through the door---she didn’t care if he was half starved or nearly mauled to death or whatever state he was in, just that he was alive. If he was hurt she would tend to his wounds and joke that all girls loved a man with scars. If he was hungry she’d make him soup and run her hands through his hair. If he was perfectly fine---which Adele seriously doubted he would be---she would beg him to never leave her again, and she’d cry when she thought he wasn’t looking.)

“Adele,” Treville said, setting a hand upon her shoulder. “Everything will be fine.”

_ Liar.  _

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now.” He hesitated, running his hand through her hair like he once used to do. She felt impossibly young, fighting the urge to curl up in Treville’s arms and cry. Crying didn’t help anything. “But someone once told me that everything ends well, and it’s not over until there is a happy ending.”

How dreadfully naive of him. Happy endings---she hadn’t believed in those since she  was ten years old, and her mother still read her fairytales. “Who said that?”

He smiled, just barely. “Armand did.”

Of course. Papa Richelieu could be terrifying at times, could be cunning, could be manipulative, but he was always such a sap when it came to Treville. 

“And I know it might sound a bit cruel for me to say that right now, but I guess I just wanted to tell you that this isn’t the end, sweetheart. No matter how bad it seems.”

There was nowhere else to look but the future.

  
  


The castle was beautiful: immense, mysterious. Aramis felt like he had been here an age, yet he still hadn’t seen all of it. However, he never found himself too terribly lost. He’d always manage to find his way back to his chambers, or run into Porthos. It was a little strange, but he supposed all magic castles must be that way. 

Out of all the places he had seen, however, Aramis always liked the gardens best. He liked the comfortable silence; there was always the rustle of wind, the faraway chirp of birds.  Not like the rest of the castle. 

He sat on the ground, watching the ice-tipped roses sway gently. Adele loved roses. (He had asked for a flower and she brought him one, despite the consequences. She never cared for consequences; she damned them to oblivion, when it came to pleasing him. (He knew why, of course he knew why. He hadn’t been nearly so young as to forget the time after their parents died, when they were penniless and alone.) He should never have asked her for anything.)

He touched one of those cursed flowers, tracing a line down the stem.

“You ought to be careful,” a voice whispered, but it wasn’t Athos or Porthos. He flinched, accidentally snapping the flower cleanly off its stem and pricking his finger in the process. “Roses can be dangerous, you know.”

The speaker was a woman, with lily-white skin and aristocratic features, brown hair curling over her shoulder. So this was the mysterious third person, the one the others didn’t speak about. “Who are you?”

“Me?” She blinked, as if she wasn’t expecting the question. “You may call me Charlotte.”

“Charlotte.” He said, testing it out on his tongue like he was five years old and still had to sound out words. “That’s a pretty name.”

Had she been like any girl he knew, he would have imagined that she blushed. Instead her cheeks remained waxen. She hummed, examining the flowers and not meeting his eye. “Do you like roses?”

“What?”

“You were holding one, I assumed you were fond.”

He glanced down at the flower, blue and pretty in his hand. “I like them, but Adele likes them more.”

“Adele?” 

“My sister.”

“What’s she like?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

Immediately she was his favorite out of all the people he had met in this castle. Admittedly, it was not a very hard competition to win. He hadn't had someone to talk to in what felt like an age, and Charlotte soaked in every word about Adele as though it was the gospel truth.

By the time they stopped, it had already grown dark, yet Aramis only noticed the time when he stopped himself from lighting a lantern. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”

“I’m late.” He said. “I have dinner with Athos---Porthos said he had something to show me---”

Aramis was mostly this flustered not because he usually made it a point to be punctual, but instead because he had never been late to dinner with the Beast before. His sister had been forced to promise the rest of his life in exchange for a flower, what would happen if he made him wait? 

Aramis had no wish to figure it out. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” He said, giving the most gracious farewell he could while trying not to run. “It’s simply---”

“You can’t be late, I know.” She said. “But Aramis?”

“Yes?”

She tucked the flower from before behind his ear. “Roses suit you.” She smiled. “Now go. Athos doesn’t like to wait.”

He hesitated, then ran.

 

By the time he reached the dining room, face red and gasping for breath, Athos was already there. “I was wondering if you were going to come.”

“Of course I came. Why wouldn’t I?” Aramis always came.

“You grew certain that I wouldn’t eat you, and then decided my company was too much effort?” He suggested dryly, not meeting his eye. Instead he stared into his wine, the bitter red kind that Athos seemed to prefer. 

“I lost track of time.”

“I see.” He didn’t believe him, Aramis could tell. 

“I did!” He protested, taking a seat at the table. “I was in the gardens.”  
Athos laughed, a strong and almost frightening thing. “Yes, I can tell.” He gestured to the flower in Aramis’s hair. 

Aramis touched it absentmindedly. In his haste to get here, he had forgotten that the rose had even been there at all. It hadn’t even fallen out during the run. 

“You...Like the garden, then?”

“I suppose, yes.” He shrugged. “Why?”

“I.” He coughed “Perhaps it’d be better to show you,” he said, standing up from his chair and motioning for Aramis to follow as they left the room. “Porthos tells me that you were planning to study medicine before you came here?”

Oh. His studies. A pang went through his chest at the mere mention. He had wanted to be a doctor. He had wanted to make people better, to make a difference. He had nearly forgotten that, his childhood dream. (It would have been better if he had forgotten. Remembering that hurt. Remembering meant the feeling of injustice over how he would have to spend the rest of his life in some enchanted castle, talking to the same three people time and time again. Remembering meant he’d remember that his life would be dull monotony for the rest of his days.) “Yes,” he said instead, throat dry. “I had wanted to be a doctor.”

They stopped in front of a door. Athos pushed it open. “I had wondered if you would like to take up studying again.” 

It was a library. The biggest, grandest, most beautiful library that Aramis could ever imagine. There were books from floor to ceiling and ceiling to floor. Aramis fell a little bit in love. “It’s---It’s---I don’t even know what to say.” He thought he might cry. (He wouldn’t have to give anything up.)

“The books might be a little out of date, but I hope you like it anyway.” Athos fidgeted.

“It’s perfect, Athos.” He said, squeezing one of his paws with all the emotion that he wished he could express but couldn’t. “It’s---It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you so much.”

“You can come here whenever you like,” he said. “It won’t be locked.” He cleared his throat, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“It’s wonderful,” he promised. “I could like nothing better.” 

“I---” Athos cut himself off, then started again, glancing into his eyes. “Are you happy here, Aramis?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“Aramis---” he broke off. “Aramis, will you marry me?”

What. How could he answer that? Why would he even ask him that?“Athos…” He swallowed. “You’re a good friend, but I won’t marry you.”

All was silent for a moment, and the anxiety almost tore him to pieces. He didn’t know what to expect---didn’t know if Athos would fly into a rage, didn’t know if he would be cast out into the cold with nothing. He tried to brace himself, tried to not let himself be phased by what ever Athos was going to do. He closed his eyes.

“Alright.” Athos said instead.

(He didn’t hurt him.)

(Aramis hadn’t expected that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo so sorry that this took so long to update. On the bright side, it's longer than usual. Still, i do try to get it out within to weeks and im sorry about that guys.   
> Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely winter break! :D


	5. Chapter 5

> That night, when the Beast paid his usual visit, he detected almost at once that she had been weeping, and demanded the reason. 
> 
> ‘Ah, sir,’ said Beauty, ‘if only I might go home!’
> 
> ‘You wish to go home?’ The Beast’s face turned pale…. ‘Ah, Beauty, Beauty! Would you desert a poor Beast? What more can I do to make you happy? Or is it because you hate me, that you wish to be gone?’
> 
> ‘No, Beast,’ Answered Beauty gently; ‘I do not hate you, and I should be very sorry not to see you again. But I do long to see my own people...I promise to come back and stay with you for the rest of my life.’...
> 
> ‘I can deny you nothing.’
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

Aramis did not mind the castle so much, these days. It was, after all, as beautiful as it was magical, and Aramis loved beautiful things. Still, even though he now had Charlotte to while away time with, it was still awfully lonely. Back home, there was always something to be doing, and there was always someone around. It was always so warm, then. Oh, to be home, with Adele and Treville, and even Richelieu. Back home

The castle was as cold as it was lonely, and Aramis was fairly sure that it had nothing to do with the season.  “Porthos!”  he smiled, trying to project all the warmth that he could onto him. “It’s a lovely day, I thought we might go ice skating. Together. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Porthos faltered for a moment. “I don’t think I can, Aramis. But I’m certain Athos would love to go with you.”

Aramis wasn’t even sure if Athos could even fit into a pair of ice skates, even though Aramis had found perfectly sized skates just lying about the castle. Still, he did not have to be a genius to tell he wasn’t wanted. Athos would love to, ha. Athos would probably be offended, were Aramis to ask. He would just be reminded how beastly he was, and Aramis hated days like that.

Still, he went to visit Athos anyway, because perhaps he could keep him company even if they couldn’t go skating together. Adele had been a magnificent ice skater, and even though Aramis wasn’t half as good, he had always liked to watch her flit across the ice like some fairy out of a storybook. Perhaps Athos would like to do the same. 

Yet when he passed outside of Athos’s door, just before he knocked, he heard Athos and Charlotte talking rushed voices, in that hushed way that spoke of an argument that should not be overheard, and would most likely go on for quite some time. The sort that should never be interrupted for something as petty as going ice skating with Aramis.

He sighed. Perhaps they could another day.

* * *

 

It wasn’t necessarily that Aramis was  _ lonely _ , per se. He just… didn’t have much to do, or much company, either. It was probably more boredom than loneliness, he reasoned with himself. That was what happened when he was stuck in a castle for months on end, when he had always dreamed of adventure.

Adele had loved adventure, too, and Papa Treville. Richelieu had always been much more on the wary side, of course, he was always the practical one, but there was something in him that wasn’t always so pleased with domesticity either. Richelieu was the sort of man that should probably have been running nations, running empires, Treville always liked to say when he was in one of his more contemplative moods. There was something wild about him too, something powerful. It was in Aramis’s blood to chafe at being in this same castle for months and months and months, to see only the same three people day after day and to constantly be turned down for companionship —

“You look upset, Aramis.” Athos said from across the table at dinner. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, I promise.” He tried to wave it away with a smile. “I’m fine.”

“It must be something, if it is upsetting you.” 

 "No, it’s nothing,”

“Aramis,” He said, in that low voice, but the sort of voice that was deeply understanding. “What is it?” 

“I — I wish to go home.”

Oh, Aramis wished he hadn’t said that. Athos’s glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces. Yet Athos himself didn’t do a single thing, just stared at Aramis, going impossibly pale, though it wasn’t an easy feat, being as Athos was. “You. You wish to leave me?” His voice seemed barely more than a gasp; he breathed harshly as if every word Aramis said had been a physical wound and the pain was almost too difficult to bear. “Why? Have I not been good to you? Do you not like it here? Do you — Do you believe me to not care for you?” 

That was part of the problem: Aramis knew that he did. He no longer feared the beast as he used to, he hadn’t since he had learned that fact. If there was anyone always willing to spend time with him, it was Athos. But as of late, he had been speaking often, in private, with Charlotte and Porthos, sometimes for hours on end. And also —

Aramis couldn’t always bear to spend time with him, not when he wasn’t so sure he returned his affections. “Athos, it isn’t that — ”

“Did you not make a promise that you would stay here with me?”  
“It would not be forever!” He said quickly, which seemed to calm him. “It is simply that, well, it has been a year, Athos. I miss my family. I miss my sister. I miss going out and seeing people in the street. I want to go home, Athos, but not forever. I wouldn’t break my promise.”

He sighed. “You know I will let you go.”  
Aramis had not really known, but now he did.

“I can deny you nothing.” He said, and Aramis knew that he meant it. A part of him was unbearably sad at that, but it still couldn’t overwhelm the part that was overjoyed at going home.

* * *

 

Constance Bonacieux scuttled across the icy ground, bread carried under her shawl. The icy wind blew across her shoulders again; what a horrible day it was to be out. Still, somebody had to venture out to the grocer’s, and D’Artagnan was already out doing god knew what with god knew who. That boy, she swore to god. 

She didn’t notice that she was about to collide with someone until she already hit them face first. “Ow!” She cried, raising her hands to her injured nose. 

“Apologies, my lady,” a man’s voice purred, and when she looked up she was facing a golden haired man with the sort of smile, that had she been a different woman, she might have gone weak at the knees. Being as she was, it made her heart beat faster, though it was not out of any sort of infatuation. There was something predatory in his smile, a look in his eye which made her want to turn and run, and above all things, keep Anne away from this man. “Let me,” he said, handing her a pristine white handkerchief. 

She had hardly even noticed that her nose had begun bleeding, but she was prone to them during the winter months, and hitting him hadn’t helped. “Thank you,” she muttered, pressing it to her nose. 

“Georges de Rochefort, at your service,” he murmured in response. 

“Constance,” she said, but at the very last second, she decided she didn’t want him to know her name. There was something in his eyes that was very cold. “Of Austria.” 

“Of Austria, you say?” He said, something sparkling in his eyes, and a sickened pit grew in Constance’s stomach. “I once knew a girl named that. Her name was Anne. If I remember correctly, she — ”

“Moved away! Some time ago, I’m afraid,” she said, twisting her wedding ring around her finger like she always did when she got nervous. 

“What a pity,” He hummed, staring down at at her. She fidgeted under his gaze. He looked like he was about to say more, but the clocktower began to chime the hour. He straightened, and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’m afraid I must go. I have an appointment to keep.” 

“Pity,” she murmured, though she meant just the opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! this story isn't dead! I just. Got very distracted with the thought of Angel Trevilieu fic *cough* _kyele ___*cough*

**Author's Note:**

> All of the quotations are taken from the Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Translation of Beaumont’s La Belle et La Bête


End file.
